Chapter 10
Spense took us to his place. It was one of those big boxy things, the kind with lots of amenities and no soul. You know, the ones with a fancy stone façade out front and vinyl siding everywhere else. Normally I hated it, but now I was just too damn glad to have Marilyn back and safe.
Well, mostly.
Spense and I leaned against the granite countertop and nervously watched Marilyn as she sat in the conveniently adjoined family room. She had finally quieted down with the help of a package of frozen chicken wings and a Law & Order marathon on TV.
Spense picked at the plastic wrap of the Styrofoam package I had left on the counter. “There is something really wrong with Marilyn.” He said in a low whisper.
“That is what I have been saying!” I snatched the trash out of Spense’s hands and threw in into the can under the sink.
“I mean, really. Did you hear her? When we were in the basement with...whatever the hell was down there. She was making the same noises. It was like she was communicating with them!”
I went through the motions of washing my hands, snapping off the faucet with aggravation. “I don’t care about any of that. How do we fix her? Should we go to the emergency room?
“No, man! You can’t do that. You heard the doctor. Whatever he did to her was not natural. Not western medicine.” Spense griped me by the shoulders and gave them a shake. “Remember when you said that the only explanation could be a SPELL?”
“And you didn’t believe me,” I pointed out as I jerked away from Spense’s grasp.
He shrugged, letting his hands fall to his side, the only concession I would likely get on that score. He was already onto the next thing. “No ER doctor is going to help you break a spell. What you need to do is find that dermatologist dude’s number and make him tell you what he did to her.”
“Yeah.” I glanced back toward the family room. Marilyn was being awfully quiet.
Spense punched me in the arm. “YEAH.” He had that maniacal gleam in his eye. The one he got before binging on spa sessions. “And if he won’t tell you, then we’ll just have to make him.”
I mumbled something noncommittal, just wanting this whole ordeal to be over. I ran my fingers through my hair and let my mind filter through the crazy details of the past week. Thinking that Marilyn was cheating on me. Flipping out and deciding to follow her. Falling into the pool while trying to follow her. Marilyn’s knife wound. I thought things couldn’t get any worse than that. But then came the things crawling around in the doctor’s basement.
A couple of gun shots echoed through the family room and my gaze flicked to the TV screen, where Lenny was tossing the gunman into the back of his squad car. Yep. I’d been there too. Twice. I shook my head, hoping for some clarity. Normally, I would have just gone along with whatever Spense said. But this was Marilyn. Was I really going to skip the ER and stalk some Hollywood dermatologist instead?
“Uh, Rick.” Spense elbowed me in the ribs and nodded to Marilyn, who had started rocking back and forth.
I rushed from behind the counter, with Spense cornering the granite slab behind me.
Marilyn slumped over, sliding down the sofa cushions, invisible to me until I rounded the arm. I slide to my knees in front of her.
“Babe? You okay?”
Marilyn’s eyes were glazed. A sound escaped her throat. Something low and garbled. Not like any of the sounds she had made since this whole thing started. Her fists were still clutching chicken wings, but she was starting to shake. Spittle bubbled from her mouth.
“A seizure?” Spense asked. I could hear the rising panic in his voice.
“Who knows?” I hovered over Marilyn, not knowing what to do to help her. “When has it been that simple?” She was jerking violently now, her head flailing about, the rest of her body boneless.
“Should I get her to the floor?” I asked helplessly, my voice wavering. I looked behind me at Spense. He was standing at a distance, staring at Marilyn, his eyes wide and his lip curling, clearly appalled.
“Spense,” I shouted. He jerked his head toward me, but he could only shrug his shoulders. He didn’t know any more than I did. That was usually the case, but normally I could rely on him for some dumb scheme.
“I’ve got nothing, Rick,” he mumbled.
Turning back to Marilyn, I prayed for some sort of plan.
The foam kept dripping from Marilyn’s mouth, dribbling onto her sports bra and spattering across the sofa cushions. I tried to straighten her neck. Surely, it shouldn’t be able to bend like that.
I was so desperate to do something.
But when I touched her face, her head stilled, her eyes suddenly focused. Thin red lines webbed the whites of her eyes, and her pupils trained on my face.
“Rick, look out!” Spense clawed at my t-shirt, hauling me back just as Marilyn lunged towards my outstretched hand, her teeth snapping hard at the empty air where my fingers had been.
She keened her disappointment. Her body still jerked violently but that didn’t stop her. She snapped at me again and her motion tipped her over the edge of the sofa. She spilled onto the floor. Both Spense and I jumped back as she sprawled, spasming on the floor.
My stomach clenched and unclenched. What the hell was happening to Marilyn? I reached out a trembling hand, and then thought better of it when Marilyn’s head twisted to Exorcist levels trying to reach it. Instead, I crawled around and grasped her head from behind. One hand on each temple.
“Shush, Marilyn. Just try to relax.” With both hands I tried to keep her head in-line with her spine. If anything, her shaking intensified.
“Spense,” I cried out, even though I knew he couldn’t do anything.
A cell phone rang. Huh. What? It was Olivia Newton John. Or at least that was the muffled song. “You’re the one that I want.” Marilyn’s ring tone. “Woo Hoo Hoo, Honey”
Spence shot me a disturbed look.
“What? She loves that song.” I always felt the need to defend Marilyn’s aesthetic choices to Spense.
Spense shrugged, in that “there’s no accounting for taste” way, but then went still. “Is that always her ring tone? I haven’t heard it before. Or is that the one just for your phone?”
My throat went dry. “That’s mine.” I shifted in my seat, keeping hold of my shaking wife, but I didn’t feel the familiar weight of my phone in my left jeans pocket. “I had it before we went to the doctor’s place.”
“The One I Need. Oh Yes Indeed...” Spense eyed Marilyn’s running shorts. “It must be in an inside pocket.”
I nodded at Spense and he slowly reached across Marilyn’s torso, whipping his hand back when her flailing arms knocked it.
“It’s gonna go to voicemail,” I yelled at Spense. Impatient and frustrated and tired as hell.
“What if she’s contagious?” he whined.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I let one hand go and waved it in front of Marilyn’s face, digging my fingers into her hair with the other hand to keep her from sinking her jaws into my fleshy bait.
“Got it.” Spense fished out the cell and then answered it. “Hold on one second,” he told the phone. “It’s the doctor,” he whispered to me and then pushed the button for speakerphone. “You still there?”
“Look, you idiots. Right now I imagine that Marilyn is on the floor convulsing.”
Spense waited a beat. “Maybe.”
There was a grunt in the background and a corresponding yelp from the doctor.
“Listen, I can help her. But you have to bring her to me. She doesn’t have much time.”
“Yeah, right. You’ll help her. Like you helped her in the first place.” Spense drawled in return, like he was right out of a 1930s mob movie.
I grunted to get Spense’s attention, and then punted him in the thigh when he didn’t look at me soon enough. “What are you doing?” I mouthed. Hadn’t he just said 5 minutes ago that we needed the doctor’s help?
Spense covered up the mouthpie
ce and whispered, “I’m negotiating.”
I shot a panicked look down at Marilyn. “I don’t want the best deal. I want her alive.” And that’s when I realized that Marilyn had stopped moving.
“Oh god, Oh god.” Marilyn’s prone body was infinitely more terrifying than her shaking. I waved my hand frantically in front of her face, with no response. I ripped the phone out of Spense’s hand and shouted into the receiver. “Can you help her?”
“I can try,” the doctor added, “but there are conditions.”
Spense snatched the phone back. “Money’s not a problem.” And in that moment I would have hugged him, if that was the kind of thing we did. Instead, I picked up Marilyn.
“Not money. Guns. You morons let the other specimens escape! I’m not helping Marilyn until you take care of them.”
Other specimens? Is that what Marilyn was? A specimen?
“Money—guns—whatever.” Spense was already headed for the door.
“Whatever? Where are we going to find—” Marilyn started to slide out of my arms, her head lolling at that undead angle again. I hoisted her up. Was she even breathing? I just looked at Spense, letting him know that this was on him. Whatever.